


Gold-Hearted Boy

by gallagherfamilyreunion (PrincessPeach)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPeach/pseuds/gallagherfamilyreunion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ordinary suburban kid Ian Gallagher sets out to find his father and gets much more than he bargained for on the South Side of Chicago, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up about where season one does so it's completely AU, but obviously with plenty of nods to canon. Rated for language including a couple of homophobic slurs and mild violence. Title from "All These Things That I've Done" by the Killers except I always thought the lyric was "cold-hearted boy" oops but this works better anyway.

He wasn’t really nervous until he heard the squeal of the brakes as the bus finally reached his stop.

And it wasn’t so much nerves as it was feeling like there was a tiny boxing champion camped out inside his stomach, using it as a punching bag. Then there was the simple fact that he didn’t have to do any of this; he could just go home and pretend that everything was perfectly fine and normal and try not to think about any of this ever again.

“Pretend” being the one major sticking point in that particular plan. He’d been through the pros and cons a thousand times before, had even written them out on a page in the tiny notebook he carried in his pocket. So it didn’t take him too long this time to reach the same conclusion he always did. Which was, basically: Fuck it. 

He grabbed his rucksack and bolted from his seat, making it off just before the doors squeaked shut.  The bus rumbled off, leaving him standing alone on a random street corner on the South Side of Chicago with absolutely no fucking clue what he was doing.

* * *

 

Getting off the bus turned out to be the easiest part. Finding the house in question wasn’t too difficult either, a few wrong turns notwithstanding. Working up the guts to actually go knock on the door, however, was proving much more difficult. He double-checked the address against the one scrawled in his notebook at least a dozen times, while keeping a lookout for any sign of activity that might offer a hint at what was in store.

The house was slightly run-down, but no worse off than the rest of the neighborhood, and at least the lights were on. As the evening got darker and chillier, the inviting orange glow spilling through the thin curtains eventually won out over his anxiety. He unlatched the gate, walked up the creaking steps, and knocked firmly on the front door. After waiting felt like another eternity, he was on the verge of abandoning the whole idea when it finally opened.

“Who the fuck are you?” The heavy-lidded boy who answered the door wore a wrinkled plaid shirt and had maybe a year or two on him in age.

“My name’s Ian,” he said. “I’m looking for Frank Gallagher?”

The other boy let out a tired-sounding laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Join the fuckin’ club.”

So that was helpful.  “So he’s not here?” Ian pressed.

“Whoa, you must be some kind of genius.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“If he owes you money, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“He doesn’t owe me money,” Ian clarified, taking a deep breath before delivering the news he had been rehearsing for weeks, and struggling to wrap his head around for months. “Frank Gallagher is my dad.”

There was a long pause; the other boy blinked, but otherwise betrayed no emotion. “Shit,” he said finally. “Want a drink?”

“Um… sure.” Ian followed him inside, treading carefully through the living room to avoid the endless piles of scattered toys and papers, piles of laundry and god knows what else.

“Who’s at the door?” called a harried-sounding female voice from another room.

“Some kid, says Frank’s his father.”

“No shit,” said the girl; now that they had reached what was apparently the kitchen Ian could see that she was a pretty brunette, scrambling together a mismatched assortment of dishes and silverware to set the table. “Just what the world needs, another Gallagher.”

“I’m Ian,” he introduced himself again even though no one had asked, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Are you guys related to Frank too?”

“Unfortunately,” said the girl. “I’m Fiona, this is Lip, and that little angel is Liam.”

Ian turned to look where she was pointing and spotted an adorable curly-haired toddler, happy as a clam in his playpen. “Wow, so three of you?”

“Not quite,” said Fiona. “Carl! Debbie!” she shouted, making Ian jump a little. “Dinnertime!”

A pair of preteens clomped down the stairs, engaged in a heated argument.

“Do not!” said the girl.

“Do too!” the boy replied. “Ask Fiona!”

“Ask me what?” Fiona said, pouring orange soda into plastic cups.

“Do my freckles make my nose look bigger?” asked the girl, brow wrinkled with concern.

“Of course not, Debs,” Fiona assured her. “Carl, why would you say that to your sister?”

Carl shrugged. “Cuz it’s true. Who’s that?” he asked, sizing up Ian with a hostile expression.

“This is Ian,” Lip offered. “He’s, uh, looking for Frank.”

“Why?” Carl replied in confusion.

“Cuz he doesn’t know what an asshole Frank is yet,” explained Lip.

Ian started to laugh, but quickly trailed off when he realized that the others didn’t seem to find it funny for some reason. “So, um, do you know where he might be?”

“Nope,” said Fiona. “And I don’t care. Now who wants spaghetti?”

“Me!” Debbie said enthusiastically as Carl groaned.

With Fiona preoccupied by serving up dinner, Lip lowered his voice and addressed Ian directly, looking him dead in the eye. “Look, I don’t know what you want from Frank, but you’re better off forgetting about it. And we’re barely scraping by as it is, just because our pathetic excuse for a father drunkenly knocked up your mom doesn’t mean you can walk in here and…”

“And what?” asked Ian, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks as his exhaustion and the emotional toll of the day came roiling to an angry head. “Sorry, but how do you even know what I want? You don’t know a fucking thing about me, you just assume I’m looking for cash or handouts? Well if Frank’s anything like you, then I probably am better off.” He picked up his rucksack and turned to leave, his heart pounding heavily in his ears.

“Hey, wait,” said Fiona. “At least stay for dinner?”

Ian hesitated, looking to Lip for some sign of approval or lack thereof.

“I did promise you a drink,” Lip said after a tense moment, grabbing a beer from the fridge and holding it out for Ian.

“Thanks,” he replied, gratefully accepting the peace offering.

“So Ian, do you like meatballs?” Fiona asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he said as he took his plate and joining the others at the table. “Who doesn’t?”

“Is Ian our brother now?” Debbie asked.

“Um, yeah I guess,” said Lip.

“Cool,” she said with a grin.

“I like your freckles, by the way,” Ian told her. “I don’t think they make your nose look big at all.”

“Really?” Debbie said skeptically. “Cuz yours definitely do.”

Which sent everyone into fits of laughter, including Ian once he got over the initial shock of being so casually insulted by a 10-year-old girl.

“So where are you from, Ian? South Side?” asked Fiona.

“No, we live in Lake Bluff, actually,” Ian said, taking a swill from his bottle.

“Jesus,” said Lip. “Rich kid from the suburbs coming down here, I’m surprised you didn’t get mugged within five minutes. You must be smarter than you look. No offense,” he added as an afterthought.

“None taken,” Ian assured him. “It was no big deal, really.”

“We should be asking you for money,” Carl suggested, earning a stern look from Fiona.

“How’d you find out about Frank?” she continued. “Not to be nosy or anything, you don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

“It’s cool,” Ian said. “I found out the old-fashioned way.”

“You caught your mom banging another dude?” Carl guessed.

“What? No,” Ian replied, eyeing him dubiously. “Blood type. I needed mine for an ROTC release form. Type AB. Both my parents are O-negative, and I guess I paid enough attention in biology to figure out that something didn’t add up.”

“Good for you,” said Lip with only a hint of condescension. “So you called them out on it?”

“Yeah, Mom fessed up. It was rough going for a while. My dad camped out on the couch for a few nights once he found out she slept with his brother.”

“Wait, brother?” Fiona repeated, putting the pieces together. “So your dad is our… uncle?”

“Clayton, yeah,” Ian confirmed. “I guess technically he’s my uncle too, but I’ve been calling him ‘Dad’ my whole life, so...”

“That’s fucked up,” said Lip after a moment’s reflection. “I’m gonna go have a smoke. Ian, you wanna join?”

“Sure,” he agreed, despite the fact that he’d never smoked in his life. He followed Lip back outside to the front steps and accepted the offered cigarette, inhaling uncertainly as he pulled his jacket closer against the encroaching chill.

“So you’re dead-set on finding Frank, huh?” asked Lip before taking a deep drag from his cigarette.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ian said, repressing a cough. “You really don’t have any idea where he is?”

“Nope.” Lip exhaled, a puff of white smoke standing out in stark contrast to the dark, starless sky for a moment before evaporating as if it had never been there at all. “He could be anywhere in this fucking city, man. Jesus, he could be in Canada for all I know.”

“None of you seem too concerned about it, though.”

Lip shrugged. “It’s happened before. Too many times to count, really. He always comes back. Eventually.” 

“Eventually, what does that mean?”

“I think the record is like a year or so?”

“Jesus.”

“You wanna leave your number, I’ll give you a call when he shows up.”

Ian considered the offer, then shook his head. “Nah, I think I gotta do this.”

“Okay,” Lip said indifferently. “Do whatever you want. Can I ask you something, though?”

“Sure.”

“What are you expecting to get out of all this? You probably have a pretty sweet life out in Lake Bluff, right? Good parents, good schools, food, clothes, fucking video games, non-delinquent friends, whatever. Yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So what do you want Frank for?”

Ian shrugged. “I don’t know, he’s my dad. He’s responsible for like, half my genetic makeup. Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Lip took another long drag before he spoke again. “You ever heard of the Yellowstone volcano? There’s this giant fucking magma pool, seven miles deep, right under the park out in Wyoming. The last time it really blew its top, like half a million years ago, the impact was so massive it literally changed the face of the earth. Now they say it could blow again at any moment, and when it does we’re all completely fucked. There’s not a goddamn thing anyone can do about it.”

“Wow,” said Ian after the anecdote had sunk in for a moment, “so is that some kind of metaphor?”

“Fuck off,” Lip replied, catching onto his sarcasm right away.

“No seriously, that’s a great story. You must really be the life of the party, huh?”

“I’m just saying, sometimes it’s better not to know.” Lip tossed the butt of his cigarette to the sidewalk and turned to go back inside. “You can stay here tonight if you want, but you’ll have to sleep on the couch. We rented Frank’s room to a hooker.”

Ian laughed, following him back into the house. “Now that’s funny.”

Lip looked back at him, expression as deadpan as ever. “Who’s joking?”

* * *

 

Ian woke the next morning to the distinct feeling of being watched. He opened his eyes to find his suspicions confirmed, wide-eyed Liam standing inches away from where he lay on the couch.

“Hey buddy,” he said groggily, “good morning.”

In response Liam crawled away, presumably in search of some more interesting endeavor. Ian sat up and stretched, then reached for his phone to check the time. Judging by the general lack of commotion it was still pretty early, but it sounded like someone was up and about in the kitchen, so that was where he headed.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” asked Fiona, putting away a stack of dishes.

“Nah. Early riser,” he assured her.

“Coffee?”

“Sure,” he said, smirking to himself as he read the phrase “May contain vodka” on the porcelain mug Fiona handed to him.

“You got any other brothers or sisters, Ian?” Fiona asked.

Ian shook his head. “Just me.”

“No shit. Ever get lonely?”

“When I was younger I wanted a brother,” he confessed. “Now I don’t mind so much. Nobody messing with my stuff or sticking their nose in my business, for one thing.”

“A little privacy would be nice,” she conceded. “Around here, we don’t really have enough closets to spare one for skeletons.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I can see that.”

“So I’m assuming Lip didn’t change your mind about looking for Frank.”

“No, although it sounds like the odds are pretty slim.”

“Yeah,” said Fiona with a sigh. “If I were you I’d check the local hospitals, park benches, under bridges, basically anywhere you’d expect to find a degenerate bum. There’s a neighborhood bar where he’ll probably show up eventually. You could go down there and ask around; it's called the Alibi Room. Hey, your folks aren’t going to be worried about you, are they?”

“I told them I’m at an ROTC retreat, so I’m covered through the weekend.”

“Sneaky bastard,” she replied with approval. “You might be a Gallagher after all.”

Ian grinned shyly. “Thanks for the coffee, Fiona.”

“No sweat. I’ve gotta go get ready for work, you sticking around for breakfast?”

“I think I’ll get an early start, lots of ground to cover. Thanks again for everything,”  
 he added, hoisting his bag and preparing to leave.

“You know, you can leave your stuff here if you want,” she offered. “Instead of lugging it around all day.”

“That’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he insisted, heading out the door. Her concern was nice, really, but he didn’t want to ask any more than necessary from the clearly overstressed Gallagher clan.

“Hey Ian,” Fiona called after him as he reached the gate, “good luck, okay?”

“Thanks,” he replied with a smile and a wave, then set off in search of his fortune, or destiny, or just his stupid fucking alcoholic father.

* * *

 

Ian didn’t have spectacularly high hopes for his mission/quest/whatever, but it was definitely going even worse than he’d predicted. Two hospitals, eight bus stops, three highway overpasses and countless back alleys later, and still no Frank. Fortunately the Gallaghers had the foresight to show him a picture before he left; so far three different bums had tried to pass themselves off as Frank, one of whom Ian was pretty sure was a woman. He was tired, and hot, and hungry, and his backpack seemed much heavier than it had a few hours ago.

And then, in what could only be interpreted as an enormous “fuck you” from whatever cosmic power was out there, it started to rain. And not just a drizzle, either; even that he could probably bear. But this was a torrential downpour of biblical proportions, or at least close enough to make Ian want to get inside as soon as possible.

He put his head down and walked as close to the buildings as he could in a vain attempt to stay dry, then ducked into the first open shop he came across, which looked to be some sort of convenience store.

“Hi,” Ian said to the slightly nervous-looking guy behind the counter, mainly to reassure him that he wasn’t there to steal anything. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“I can see that,” the shopkeeper replied before returning to his paperwork.

Hoping he wouldn’t have to wait out the rain for long, Ian browsed the aisles without much interest, not really wanting to spend the little cash he had on overpriced Snickers bars. He had just picked up a trashy-looking pulp romance novel when the shopkeeper spoke again.

“Hey kid, are you gonna buy something?”

“Sorry, what?” Ian asked in surprise.

“You can’t really stay here if you’re not buying anything,” he explained apologetically. “It’s my wife’s rule; she has a strict ‘no loitering’ policy.”

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but was preempted when the door swung open and another rain-soaked figure entered the shop.

“Fuck,” exclaimed the newcomer, a boy about Ian’s height but probably a couple of years older, looking like a drowned rat in his oversized but threadbare trench coat, with water pooling around his worn, clunky boots. “It’s raining like a motherfucker, ain’t it?”

“What do you want, Mickey?” the shopkeeper asked wearily.

The new guy — Mickey, apparently — swaggered over to the counter as Ian watched with a combination of dread and fascination. “Just stopped by to collect my fee, Kash and Grab.”

“Fee?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Mickey said impatiently, “the security fee. For protecting this shithole from thugs and shoplifters.” 

“But you’re the only one it needs protecting from.”

“Not my problem. Now shut the fuck up and open the register.”

“How about I just call the cops instead?”

This last comment did not go over well, to say the least. “Jesus, do you want me to bash your fucking face in? Just give me the goddamn money.”

The shopkeeper finally complied, opening the drawer and handing over a small stack of bills.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” said Mickey, to which the other man responded by mumbling something inaudible. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, you could at least have the decency to steal from a neighborhood you don’t live in.”

Which was the last straw, apparently. Mickey, who had been on his way out the door, seemed to snap like a rubber band, rushing back over to the counter and punching the startled shopkeeper square on the nose with full force. Ian heard the sickening crack of breaking bone but felt frozen in place, only able to look on helplessly. The beating didn’t stop there; Mickey delivered a series of heavy blows to the face until blood began to flow freely, and then banged him face-first into the countertop for good measure. Ian stared in horror as the man crumpled to the ground unconscious and Mickey flexed his blood-stained hand with a grin, and then grabbed a six-pack from the cooler before leaving as suddenly as he had arrived.

Ian was only beginning to process what had happened when the door opened again and Mickey burst back in, eyes landing directly on him. Ian’s heart dropped to his stomach, any hope that his presence had gone unnoticed shattered. He braced himself for the worst.

“Hey,” said Mickey. “What the fuck are you standing around here for? He’s gonna be out for a while, just grab what you want and go. Come on.”

Ian wanted to stay and help, really, but he was much more afraid of what would happen if he didn’t obey this teenage thug’s instructions, so after a moment’s hesitation he followed him outside, where the rain had at least lightened up to a tolerable level.

“So this probably goes without saying, but I’m gonna say it anyway,” Mikey began conversationally, but with a vaguely threatening undertone. “I was never here, none of this ever happened. As a matter of fact, it might be best if you were never here, either.”

“Okay,” said Ian, still in a state of mild shock. “Whatever you say.”

Mickey didn’t respond but simply appeared to be sizing him up; Ian hoped he didn’t look quite as rattled as he felt. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Ian shook his head.

“Shit. Okay. Follow me.”

Mickey didn’t say where they were going, but his intentions seemed pretty clear:  he obviously meant to take Ian to a less public location where he could beat the living shit out of him uninterrupted. And scared as he was, Ian felt like he was way too young to die, so he stayed rooted to the spot.

“Let’s go, Red,” Mickey said impatiently.

“Look, I promise I won’t say anything, I swear to God,” Ian pleaded. “Just please don’t beat the shit out of me.”

Unexpectedly, Mickey let out an incredulous laugh; in the corner of Ian’s brain that was responsible for constantly having inappropriate thoughts at inappropriate times sprung the notion that he actually wasn't too bad-looking. 

“Jesus, I’m not gonna beat you down, Carrot Top,” Mickey said. “Not unless you give me a reason to, anyway. I was just gonna offer you a drink,” he added, brandishing the beer he had just lifted.

“Oh,” said Ian. Well, why not? Realistically speaking, it wasn’t like he was ever going to find Frank anyway. “Sure.”

Mickey walked with purpose, Ian trailing slightly behind. After several blocks they turned down a seemingly random alley, empty aside from a large, rusty dumpster and some scattered trash. Mickey took a seat next to the dumpster and gestured for Ian to do the same, then popped the cap off a bottle using the rusted edge of the bin and handed it over.

“Thanks, um, Mickey right?” said Ian, taking a tentative swig.

“Yeah,” Mickey replied as he opened another beer.

“Ian,” he introduced himself. “Gallagher.”

“No shit. Bunch of Gallaghers around here, you’re not related to those assholes, are you?”

“Yeah, I am actually,” Ian confessed.

“Goddammit, just when I was starting to like you,” replied Mickey, taking a long drink from his bottle. Ian shot him a sidelong glance, revising his initial assessment from “not bad” to “pretty fucking sexy.”

“So what, you’re like a cousin or something?”

“Not exactly,” said Ian, and then the whole story started tumbling out before he could stop to think about why he would spill his guts to a complete stranger who at best was a bully and a thief, at worst a violent multiple offender on the lam.

“Shit,” Mickey said when he had finished. “If I were you I’d forget the whole thing and go the fuck home.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Ian replied. “I’m not very good at doing what people tell me to do, though.”

Mickey looked at him skeptically. “Not sure if I believe that, Red. Anyway, fathers are overrated. Not that I would know; my old man got shanked in a prison fight when I was about seven. Never really knew the bastard,” he confessed, draining the last of his beer and tossing the empty bottle against the brick wall on the other side of the alley, where it shattered in a shower of glass shards.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said, finishing his own drink.

“I’m not.” Mickey got up and brushed off his coat, his face remaining a stoic mask.

Ian followed suit; he considered smashing his bottle as well but couldn’t bring himself to go through with it. Grabbing the corner of the dumpster lid, he lifted it just enough to deposit the empty container, expecting to hear a hollow clank when it hit the bottom. Instead a series of muffled sounds emitted from inside; both boys stopped short and stared at the dumpster, baffled.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Mickey.

Ian lifted the lid and peered inside, only to immediately recoil at the overwhelming stench. “God, it reeks.”

“Well, fuck you too,” slurred a voice from what had appeared to be a pile of filthy rags in the corner of the dumpster. The pile stirred, revealing the face of a very dirty, very groggy man.

“Holy shit,” said Mickey, brow furrowed in disgust.

“Yeah,” Ian agreed, glad that at least this particular scenario didn’t seem to be an everyday South Side occurrence, “there’s a homeless guy in the dumpster.”

“No,” Mickey corrected him, “that’s Frank.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds his long-lost father. Spoiler alert: he's a piece of sh*t. But he also finds the mysterious(?) Mickey Milkovich, so maybe it's not a complete loss?

“Jesus, Frank, you smell like dog anus,” Mickey groaned, helping Ian hoisting him out of the dumpster.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Frank replied once he was on his feet. “Not exactly the picture of perfect hygiene yourself, Mickey Mick-Michaelovitz,” he stuttered, either still drunk or beyond hungover.

Ian decided that it definitely wasn’t the time or place for a big reveal , instead focusing on getting him back home in one piece as soon as possible. “Frank, can you walk?” he asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“Of course I can fucking walk. Who the fuck are you?”

“He’s a friend,” Mickey jumped in, noticing Ian’s hesitation. “Now come on, you son-of-a-bitch, let’s go.”

“I can probably get him home on my own,” Ian said, not wanting to cause any further trouble for Mickey.  At that moment Frank took a shaky step forward and faltered, and both boys instantly reached out to steady him.

“Like hell,” Mickey replied.  Each taking a side, they guided Frank out of the alley, ready to catch him when he faltered. “Do you even know how to get back to the Gallaghers’ from here?”

“Yeah,” Ian insisted stubbornly. “It’s that way,” he guessed, pointing right as they reemerged onto the street. The storm had passed, and rays of sunlight had starting to break through the clouds.

“Nice try, brainiac,” Mickey said as he turned left. “Guess all that private school bullshit doesn’t leave much room for basic common sense, huh?”

“Hey, I go to public school,” Ian defended himself.

“What, in fucking Lake Bluff? You wouldn’t last a day in CPS.”

“So where do you go to school, then?”

“Don’t,” said Mickey. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, removing one with his lips before offering them to Ian. “Smoke?”

Ian shook his head, wondering if he had underestimated Mickey’s age. “Did you graduate already, or…?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Jesus, what is this, 20 questions?”  The end of Mickey’s cigarette glowed bright orange as he inhaled.

“Sorry,” said Ian, “just curious.”

“Excuse me,” Frank chimed in, “could you two please shut the fuck up?”

“Oh, are we being too loud for you, Frank?” Mickey all but shouted directly into his ear as Ian hid a smirk. “Here’s an idea: How about you try not being such a pathetic drunk for once in your miserable life?”

“You’re a pathetic drunk,” said Frank.

“Wow, great comeback,” Mickey replied sarcastically. “You really got me there. Asshole.”

 

* * *

 

Finally they arrived back at the Gallagher house, Frank somehow managing to take a final tumble off the front steps.

“Ow, motherfucker,” he grumbled as the two boys lifted him up again. Ian knocked at the door but nobody answered, and when there was no response to a second, louder knock Frank began to get impatient.

“Just open the damn door,” he said, prompting Ian and Mickey to exchange skeptical glances. “It’s my house, you know. Oh, fuck it,” he added, and simply barged inside.

Mickey followed, then Ian; the scene in the house was slightly more chaotic than it had been the previous evening, which now seemed like ages ago. Carl was engaged in some sort of scheme involving a crossbow and a pyramid of empty beer cans balanced precariously on the coffee table, while Debbie attempted to comfort a wailing, diaper-clad Liam. Lip came rushing in from the kitchen to investigate the source of the commotion.

“What the hell, guys, I’m trying to study,” he complained, pausing when he noticed the three newcomers in various states of dishevelment. “Frank?”

The name caught Debbie’s attention, eyes lighting up as she spotted her father. “Daddy!” she exclaimed, greeting him with a warm hug.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Frank replied. “Hey, shouldn’t at least… two of you be in school?”

“It’s Saturday,” said Debbie. “Do you want me to start you a bath?”

“That sounds wonderful,” he said, more charming than Ian would have believed possible based on his previous behavior. Debbie ran upstairs and Frank immediately collapsed onto the couch, knocking over Carl’s beer can pyramid in the process.

“Hey!” Carl exclaimed as he dropped his bow in disappointment. He looked ready to complain further but Frank was already out cold again, so instead he took off up the steps after Debbie.

“So where’d you find him?” asked Lip. “Oh, and uh, what the hell is Mickey Milkovich doing here?”

“In a dumpster. He was – is – in pretty bad shape, obviously,” said Ian. “Mickey helped me get him back here.”

“No shit,” said Lip, eyebrows raised in surprise. “A little late to be trying out for the Boy Scouts, don’t you think, Mick?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey said, raising his middle finger as he made his exit.

“Hey, wait,” Lip said, “how’s your sister? Has she said anything about me?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it...”

“Really?” Lip prompted, his expression instantly brightening. “What?”

“She said, go fuck yourself,” Mickey said, then bolted out the door.

“Piece of shit,” Lip muttered. “Thanks for bringing Frank back, though,” he said to Ian. “Mind helping me get him upstairs?”

“Sure,” said Ian. He grabbed Frank under the arms as Lip took hold of his feet, and together they lifted the comatose shell of their father.

 

* * *

 

“You got this, Debs?” Lip asked once he and Ian had successfully removed Frank’s filthy clothes (except for, after a brief discussion, his boxers) and deposited him in the bubble-filled tub.

“Yes,” she insisted, shooing them out of the bathroom.

“How did she get to be so… responsible?” Ian asked as he and Lip stood idly in the hallway.

“Always has been,” Lip said with a shrug. “Not much of a choice, really. Did you tell Frank…?”

Ian shook his head. “Didn’t seem like the right time. What do you think he’ll say?”

“Dunno,” Lip replied. “Only one way to find out,” he added as a series of semi-conscious groans emitted from the bathroom. “Huh, sounds like he might be coming back around.”

He walked away without another word and Ian knew what he had to do, even though Lip hadn’t spelled it out. Not that knowing made it much easier. “Fuck,” he said with a sigh, rubbing his face as he steeled himself. “Okay.”

“Hey, Debbie, how’s he doing?”  Ian asked, re-entering the cramped, cluttered bathroom.

“Okay,” she said as she used a soapy washcloth to gently wipe the layers of grime off Frank’s face.

“Cool,” Ian said. There was a moment’s pause. “Um, do you think I could get a minute?”

“If you need to pee you can just go,” Debbie told him, still not turning her attention from Frank. “I promise not to look.”

“Oh no, I’m good,” he assured her. “I was, uh, hoping to talk to Frank, actually.”

She paused for the first time and looked up at Ian thoughtfully, weighing her options. “Okay,” she decided at last, standing up and handing over the washcloth.

“Don’t forget behind the ears,” she added as she left.

“Got it,” said Ian, and then he was alone with Frank.

The whole situation was beyond weird, he realized: none of the scenarios he had imagined for meeting his father for the first time involved dumpsters, or sponge baths (or – said the inappropriate voice in the back of his head – unexpectedly attractive neighborhood troublemakers who probably weren’t quite as hardcore as they made themselves out to be). But here he was, so there was nothing left to do except go with it. He dipped the washcloth into the lukewarm water and wrung it out, then patted hesitantly at Frank’s forehead.

After a moment Frank spoke, making Ian jump a little. “Thank you Debbie, that’s nice,” he said, eyes still closed.

“Um,” said Ian, “I’m not Debbie.”

Frank cracked an eye open and frowned. “No, you’re not. So who the fuck are you?”

“Well…”

“Come on kid, spit it out already.”

“My name’s Ian Gallagher, I’m Clayton and Lucy’s son,” he said, and then took a deep breath. “Except I’m actually your son.”

Frank stared at him blankly for a moment, finally asking, “Lucy who?”

“Lucy Gallagher?” Ian repeated. “She’s, uh, married to your brother Clayton?”

There was a pause as Frank appeared to be thinking hard, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Ian was beginning to worry that he didn’t remember at all, when suddenly Frank’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, holy shit, Lucy!” he exclaimed. “Wow, you’d never know it by looking at her, but she was a…” he trailed off as he caught Ian’s eye. “Lovely girl,” he finished a little pathetically. “I have no idea what she sees in my faggoty brother.”

Ian shifted uncomfortably: right, so there was that. Not that he had told his parents either, but he suddenly saw with crystal clarity that he would never find what he wanted from Frank. It wasn’t even the faggot thing that did it; mainly it was his complete and utter apathy to the revelation that Ian was his goddamn son.

Well, and maybe the faggot thing a little.    

“Yeah, well,” Ian said finally. “I’m not sure what she saw in you.”

He got up to leave, and had one foot out the bathroom door when the sound of Frank’s voice stopped him.

“Son, wait,” he pleaded.

There was a long pause while Ian debated whether to simply walk away, but finally he turned around to face his wayward father. “Yeah?”

“Could you bring me a beer, please?”

“Oh, fuck you,” said Ian. On his way out he passed Debbie, who was patiently waiting in the hallway. “He’s all yours,” he told her before descending the back staircase to the kitchen, where Lip was changing a load of laundry as Liam played contentedly on the floor.

“So?” Lip asked.

“He wants me to bring him a beer,” Ian said, opening the fridge.

“And you’re doing it?”

“Fuck no,” replied Ian. He pulled out a can and cracked it open while Lip looked on, poker-faced.

“Help yourself,” Lip said with a hint of sarcasm. “But it’s a little early. Unless you’re trying to follow in your father’s glorious footsteps, of course.”

“Sorry,” Ian apologized, feeling slightly calmer now that the heat of the moment had passed. “It’s just… What an asshole.”

“Yeah.” To his credit, Lip didn’t follow up with “I told you so” or any variation thereof; Ian wasn’t sure he could have shown the same restraint.

“Drink?” he offered Lip, lacking anything better to say.

“Of my own beer? Wow, how generous,” Lip replied. “Nah, finish it. You earned it, man.”

Ian felt guilty in spite of Lip’s light tone, fishing into his pockets for some spare cash. “Here,” he said, holding out a crumpled $10 bill, “for dinner. And the beer.”

“Put that away,” said Lip seriously. “Next time I’m out in the fucking suburbs I’ll come check up on you, and you can buy me a drink. Deal?”

“Yeah,” said Ian, allowing himself a small grin. “Deal.” Not seeing much point in hanging around, he went to the living room to retrieve his rucksack. Lip followed.

“Sure you don’t want to crash here again? Or at least stick around till Fiona gets back?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But make sure to tell her thanks for everything.”

“Alright,” Lip said skeptically. “What about Carl and Debbie?”

“Nah, they won’t even remember me. Will they?”

“Probably not,” Lip said, although Ian couldn't tell if it was the truth or just to make him feel better.

“Oh, there was one thing,” Ian added, trying to play it off as casually as possible. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t have had that beer; it must have given him a slight buzz, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have asked at all. “I, um, wanted to thank Mickey for helping with Frank; do you know where I could find him?” 

* * *

 

By the time Ian found his way to the decidedly shabbier Milkovich residence his buzz had definitely worn off, and dropping in on Mickey unannounced and uninvited seemed like a perfect way to turn what was already an ill-advised trip into a complete disaster. He paced back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the house, careful to avoid the shattered glass, crushed cans and other bits of debris in his path.He was vaguely aware that he might be creating a spectacle; in his neighborhood some nosy housewife definitely would have called the cops on anyone behaving like him by now.

“Fuck this,” he decided at last, heading back toward the bus stop without even breaking stride.

“Hey, Howdy Doody!” called a voice from behind him. Ian grinned as he turned around to see Mickey standing on the front porch with his arms crossed, doing his best to look intimidating. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Ian confessed, walking back toward the house.

“Why?” said Mickey. “Find another degenerate drunk who needs to be returned to his fucked-up, enabling family?”

“Not yet. You could probably start a service, though,” Ian suggested. He took his time climbing the steps, and then leaned casually against the railing opposite Mickey. “Make some honest money instead of beating up innocent convenience store employees.”

“I thought I told you, that never happened,” Mickey said, staring him down intensely before turning his gaze to the deserted street. “And that guy was a piece of shit anyway,” he added with a mischievous sidelong glance back at Ian, who surprised himself by letting out a loud, genuine laugh.

After a moment’s silence, it was Mickey who spoke again. “Well,” he said, “you wanna come in or what?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Ian, waiting until Mickey’s back was turned to allow himself a smirk.

His mood was slightly dampened when he walked inside, however. The interior of the house definitely matched the exterior, with trash and clutter haphazardly scattered everywhere, the smell of stale cigarette smoke lingering in the air, and an overriding sense of griminess. Ian half-expected Mickey to apologize for the state of affairs like his mother did anytime she entertained guests, regardless of how pristine the house was. But obviously he made no such gesture, instead heading straight to the kitchen table for a pack of cigarettes. The pack turned out to be empty, though, so he dropped it to the worn linoleum floor where it instantly became indistinguishable from the rest of the debris.

“Think I've got more smokes in my room,” Mickey said, disappearing down a back hallway. Having received no instructions either way, Ian took the initiative to follow him.

There wasn’t much difference between Mickey’s room and what Ian had seen of the rest of the house, although the afternoon light seeping in through the curtained window did make it seem a little less dingy.

“Shit,” Mickey said as he searched in vain amid the chaos. “If Mandy stole my fucking cigarettes again, that bitch is dead meat.”

“Mandy?” Ian repeated, fearing the worst but preferring to know regardless. “Who’s that, your girlfriend or something?”

“Ugh, Jesus no,” replied Mickey with an appalled expression. “My goddamn sister.”

“Oh. The one Lip was asking about?”

“Yeah. That cocksucker better back off, though. I swear to God, it’s like he’s trying to get himself thrashed. Hey, don’t touch that,” he added as Ian began to open the top dresser drawer.

“Sorry,” said Ian, sliding it back shut and unenthusiastically poking at a pile of laundry on the floor instead. “So, uh, Frank’s fine, by the way. Pretty hungover, but.”

“So, why do I give a shit?”

Ian shrugged. “Dunno. Why’d you help me out, then?”

“You know why.”

Mickey stopped short as he realized what he had let slip, turning to face Ian. Suddenly it seemed that all of the air had been sucked out of the small space between them, like the strange moment of suspended time at the crest of a rollercoaster, or just before diving into a pool. Ian leaned in, closing whatever personal space was left between them as he allowed himself to admire the smooth curves of Mickey’s lips.

And then Mickey balked at the very last moment, turning his head just to the side. Ian froze as his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Before the full horror of the moment had even sunk in, Mickey’s lips were pressed against his insistently, hands firmly grasping the sides of his face. Ian opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and felt the heat rising to the surface of his skin, and Mickey responded in kind while pushing Ian backwards until he ran into the bed frame. Mickey persisted, kissing Ian aggressively until he collapsed into a seated position and they finally broke apart, both breathing raggedly.

When Ian looked up and met Mickey’s eyes he saw a fiery hunger that matched his own eagerness, which only served to intensify the aching desire deep in his core. Acting instinctively he removed his t-shirt and dropped it to the floor, providing Mickey all the invitation he needed to lunge forward and kiss him again. Then he dropped to his knees, moving his hands to the waistband of Ian’s jeans.

“Wait,” said Ian. “Wait, I…” he trailed off, finding himself not quite able to form a coherent thought.

Mickey stopped what he was doing and looked up at Ian, a mixture of concern and impatience coloring his expression. “Want me to, or no?”

Ian bent forward and kissed him gently, cupping his hand around the nape of Mickey’s neck and feeling a new series of sparks explode across his skin. “Fuck,” he said. “Yes. I want you to,” he added, closing his eyes as he leaned back and tilted his face skyward. “I want you to.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* Well... yeah. You know that saying every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings? This is just like that except every time you leave a comment/kudos, Jimmysteve gets kicked in the balls. Hey, I don't make the rules. Thanks a million to everyone who's left notes already already, you're all so, so nice and lovely. Re: length, I put down four chapters because I'm pretty sure that's what it's gonna be but not 100%. Also literally nothing would make me happier than if you would come say hi to me on tumblr at [gallagherfamilyreunion](http://gallagherfamilyreunion.tumblr.com). That's all. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ian demonstrates a knack for interrupting dinner.

Ian wasn’t like, an English whiz or anything like that, the fact that it started raining again on the bus ride home definitely seemed narratively significant. He could picture the row of posters along the wall in Mr. Donnelly’s classroom of classic literary archetypes; what was the water one again? Something about change. And like, purity or something.

So maybe not 100% accurate. Which was probably because this was real life, and not fucking _Catcher in the Rye_.

He had expected finding Frank to clear up the uncertainty he felt about his roots, but it just made everything more confusing. Yes, his biological father was an unqualified disaster of a human being, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Fiona, and Lip, and Debbie and Carl and adorable little Liam. Even in the short time he’d been around them he could see that they were close, they relied on each other and helped each other out no matter what it took. They were a fucking family, in other words, and it was messy and chaotic and overwhelming at times, but it was all real.

To complicate matters further, of course, there was the fact that he’d just had the best sex of his life with Mickey fucking Milkovich, who was a.) the exact opposite of Ian’s type and b.) the biggest closet case he’d ever seen.  And okay, technically speaking they hadn’t actually had sex, but it was way more than he’d done before; he’d jerked off one of his track teammates (a pimply, bespectacled kid named Allen who had been more than happy to return the favor) in the locker room a few times, but that didn’t really seem to count.  

Ian tried to forget about the words he and Mickey had exchanged afterwards, which meant that they naturally rose to the top of his thoughts, echoing in rhythm to the movement of the bus along the road.

* * *

 “Tell anyone about this, you’re a dead man.”

Mickey spoke matter-of-factly as he lay next to Ian on the twin bed, which was now significantly more rumpled than it had been. Ian suppressed his nervous laughter, getting the sense that it was more than an empty threat.

“Okay,” he said. “I won’t.”

Mickey got up and began to get dressed, apparently having nothing else to say. So finally Ian spoke again.

“I’m going back to Lake Bluff today.”

“Congratulations,” Mickey replied. “What the fuck do I care?”

Ian shrugged. “Dunno. There’s not really anything for me around here, so…”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mickey said, the irritated edge to his voice growing. “What did you expect, anyway? Come down to the South Side, feel like a tough guy for a few hours, then go back to the fucking suburbs? Well I hope you had a good time on your fucking ghetto field trip, cuz this was a one-time thing, man.”

“Wait,” said Ian. “I didn’t mean—”

“Fuck off,” Mickey interrupted him as he finished lacing up his boots. “I don’t give a shit. I’m gonna go get some smokes, you can let yourself out.”

“But—”

“Oh, and if my brothers show up while you’re here, they’ll probably beat the shit out of you,” he continued, apparently completely uninterested in anything Ian might have to say in his own defense. “Actually, maybe you wanna stick around? Make a good story to tell all your little rich friends. Assuming you make it out alive.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

 

Ian was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed his stop; checking the clock on his phone he realized that he’d be home in time for dinner. It was a couple of miles from the bus station, an easy ride on his bike, so he had plenty of time to come up with an excuse for returning from his ROTC trip almost 24 hours ahead of schedule.  

He reached the house and marveled at how little emotion it actually managed to stir in him. He toyed briefly with the idea of just sneaking up to his room; he’d done it a couple of times before, but he was tired and it really didn’t seem worth the effort. So he walked in through the front door and saw that, as predicted, Clayton and Lucy were just sitting down to dinner, a picture-perfect spread that was only missing candlelight to be truly cinematic.

His mom spotted him first, startling slightly as she set the table. “Ian,” she exclaimed as she rushed over to give him a hug. “I thought your retreat didn’t get done until tomorrow?”

“Food poisoning,” Ian explained briefly. “A bunch of guys got sick, so they just decided to send everyone home.”

“You’re feeling alright, aren’t you?” Clayton asked, brow furrowing in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Well come have some dinner then, I’ll set a place,” said Lucy.

“Nah,” Ian tried to decline, “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“You sure?” his mother pressed. “It’s chicken parmesan night...”

So Ian caved to her wishes and his rumbling stomach and sat down for family dinner like nothing was out of the ordinary.

He zoned in and out of his parents’ conversation, which, if it had seemed painfully boring before was unbearable now.

“… and don’t forget, the Nelsons are coming over for dinner on Monday.”

“That will be nice, what are we having?”

“Not sure; I was thinking about Mexican.”

“Maybe, but not too spicy. Remember Jerry had that heart thing last year?”

“Shoot, that’s right.”

“Are they bringing their daughter? She’s got class with Ian, right?”

“I think so. Is that right, Ian?”

He realized with a start that both Clayton and Lucy were staring at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you have classes with the Nelson girl?” asked Lucy. “What’s her name, Natalie?”

“Fuck if I know,” Ian said with a shrug, pushing the last of his noodles across his plate absentmindedly.

At the word “fuck” his parents tensed almost in unison; it would have been laughable if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.

“Watch your language, please,” his father said primly.

“It’s alright,” Lucy reassured Clayton. “He’s had a long day.”

Which for some reason was the final straw for Ian; he knew he couldn’t bear sitting at that table any longer. “Goddammit,” he said, slamming his fork down and startling both of his parents. “Can you please not talk about me like I’m not even fucking here? Actually, you know what, I’m leaving. So knock yourselves out.”

He stormed out and up the stairs to his bedroom, fully intending to slam the door shut and put an exclamation point on his outburst. But by the time he got there the fiery edge of his rage had subsided and it didn’t seem worth the effort.

Ian flopped backwards onto his bed and let out a massive sigh of discontent. Everything about his room seemed small and stifling now, from the meticulously made twin bed with the crisp plaid comforter that coordinated perfectly with the navy blue paint of the walls, to the collection of band and movie posters, to the aircraft models, painstakingly assembled and crafted, that hung suspended from the ceiling.

He heard a tentative knock on the door frame and looked up to see his mother peering in with concern.

“What?” he said flatly.

“Is everything okay?” Lucy inquired, still standing in the door.

How the fuck was Ian supposed to answer that question? Numerous possibilities sprang to mind: “Actually no, I just met my biological father and it turns out he’s absolute trash; why the hell did you fuck Frank Gallagher?” was one; “Not sure, I just met five brothers and sisters I didn’t know I had and they seem kind of cool” was another; “Yeah, I just got my dick sucked for the first time and it was fucking amazing PS I’m gay” was a third. None of which were conversations he really felt like having at the moment, or ever, probably.

“Yeah,” he said, still staring up at the ceiling, “just tired.”

“Okay,” she replied, sounding unconvinced. “Want me to bring you some dessert? Your father made his famous cherry cheesecake.”

“No thanks,” Ian declined.

“Alright, just get some rest then. I love you,” she added as she left.

“Love you too, Mom.”

* * *

 Sunday passed in a blur of chores and previously neglected schoolwork that Ian was too conscientious to let slide regardless of his eventful weekend. In the late afternoon he took the family dog, Snickers (so dubbed by 8-year-old Ian, who could think of nothing better to call the sweet chocolate lab puppy he had received for his birthday), on a walk through the neighborhood, past the rows and rows of nearly identical houses painted in nearly identical shades of beige, with pristinely manicured lawns and flower beds and shiny sedans parked in the driveways. The setting sun cast an orange glow across the suburban landscape: it was the only time of day when the streets seemed more than mundane; an in-between hour when a faint sense of possibility permeated the crisp autumn air.

The dog strained eagerly against his leash but Ian held him back, walking just slowly enough to peer through the uncurtained windows of his neighbors’ houses into the brightly lit foyers, kitchens and dining rooms beyond. From the sidewalk he could only see vague shapes and outlines – cabinets, coordinating sofa sets, stately grandfather clocks and the universal electric-blue glow of the television  –but it was just enough to give him a slightly voyeuristic thrill. He liked to imagine the secret lives of the people he glimpsed, strangers who lived in such close proximity but would probably never, ever meet.

* * *

 “Mr. Gallagher?”

Ian snapped to attention; judging by Mr. Donnelly’s tone it wasn’t the first or even the second time he had repeated Ian’s name.

“Um,” he replied, a promising start if ever there was one. “Sorry, what?”

“Any thoughts about our star-crossed lovers? Any at all?”

Ian shrugged, feeling like there wasn’t much left to be said as far as _Romeo and Juliet_ was concerned. And most of the thoughts he did have revolved around Leonardo DiCaprio looking hot as fuck in the movie version, so not really helpful.

“Well I think it’s garbage,” piped up an outspoken girl in the front row. “Like, how unrealistic is it for two teenagers to just meet and suddenly get obsessed with each other like that?”

“Dunno,” said Mr. Donnelly with a shrug of his own. “How unrealistic is it? You tell me.”

“I don’t think it’s that crazy,” Ian said before he could stop himself. “I think it’s definitely possible to meet someone and just like, know. Or whatever.”

“Love at first sight?” the teacher asked.

“Not exactly,” Ian replied, not sure why he was still talking. “But if you talk to ‘em, and they get where you’re coming from, and you get where they’re coming from, there could be like a… connection,” he finished.

“A spark,” Mr. Donnelly suggested.

“Exactly. And probably no one else would be able to see it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Ian added.

Mr. Donnelly nodded, contemplating his words. “Who are we to judge the validity of two people’s feelings for each other, right?”

Ian didn’t answer. It seemed like a rhetorical question anyway, and fortunately the ring of the bell preempted any further discussion. It was the last class of the day but he was in no rush to get home; he could picture his mother greeting him at the door with a list of chores to complete before the Nelsons arrived for dinner that night, and he was in no mood for dusting. Or stilted, superficial conversation with the fucking Nelsons, for that matter, but.

Surreptitiously checking his phone as he walked out of the classroom Ian saw both the “missed call” and “voice mail” icons flashing, probably just his mom asking him to pick something up on his way home for school. His first impulse was to shove his phone back in his pocket and plead ignorance, but he knew she’d only send him back out to pick up whatever totally trivial necessity she’d forgotten. Reluctantly he pulled his phone back out and ducked into the bathroom to listen, away from the noise of the crowded halls.

“Hey Ian,” began the message, which surprisingly wasn’t from his mother at all, “it’s, uh, Lip. So I’m assuming you made it home okay? Fiona wanted me to call and check up, I guess to make sure you weren’t murdered on the bus or something. Oh, and uh, Mickey Milkovich came around asking for your number? Wouldn’t tell me why so I didn’t give it to him; he’s a piece of shit. Anyway, take care of yourself, okay?”

Ian stood perfectly still for a moment as a sudden, disorienting case of vertigo swept over him. His body seemed to have lost the ability to regulate his circulatory system; he felt the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pumping fast and irregular, and for a strange, wild moment thought he might pass out. He leaned back against the cool, tiled wall and closed his eyes and the feeling passed, allowing him to think— well, “clearly” would be an overstatement, as would “logically,” “rationally,” or any other adjective insinuating that an ounce of common sense was in play.

All he could really think about was the fact that Mickey had _asked for his number_ , meaning that Mickey had 1.) thought about Ian 2.) gone over the Gallaghers’ house, where he was obviously not especially welcome, and 3.) talked about him to Lip, who seemed even less fond of Mickey than most people. Holy fuck.

Ian walked out of the building in a daze and over to the bike rack where he had locked up his 10-speed. Checking his phone again he saw that he’d have just enough time to make it, as long as he hurried. So he hopped on his bike and took off in the opposite direction of his house, back toward the bus station.

* * *

 It took all of Ian’s willpower to overcome his initial impulse to return directly to the Milkovich household, but he decided it would be best to check in with the Gallaghers first. This bus ride felt even more interminable than the last one, if that was even possible, but finally he reached his stop.

The warm glow Ian felt in his stomach when he saw the now-familiar house matched the one emanating from its windows; he marveled at the sense of fondness that had developed in just a couple of days. He debated briefly about whether to knock at the front door but that felt too formal, so he went around to the kitchen instead and let himself in. 

Relatively speaking, the scene that greeted Ian was fairly calm, but his presence still went unnoticed for a moment. The entire clan was seated around the kitchen table for dinner, which looked to consist of macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. It was Debbie who noticed him first, a huge smile spreading across her face as she made eye contact.

“Ian!” she exclaimed, eliciting a chorus of greetings from the others.

“Hi,” Ian said as he removed his stocking cap. “I um, got Lip’s message.”

“Fuck, you didn’t have to come all the way down here to say that,” Lip replied with mild amusement. “Have a seat, man.”

“Thanks.” Ian shed his coat and hung it up carefully before taking a chair at the table.

“Mac and cheese?” offered Fiona.

“It’s the SpongeBob kind,” Debbie added eagerly. “I stole a box of Girl Scout Cookies and made a buttload selling them at the nursing home, so we splurged.” 

“Sounds delicious,” Ian agreed, “but I’m good.”

“Wanna see the rat traps I made?” asked Carl, only to be shot down immediately by Fiona.

“I thought I told you to get rid of those things,” she scolded.  “Liam could lose a finger.”

“Fine,” Carl said with a pout.

“So what brings you back down here, Ian?” Fiona inquired.

“Did you find out your mom’s not really your mom?” Lip suggested dryly. “Decide to go on another missing parent quest?”

“Nope,” said Ian. “Actually, I really just missed you guys.”

“Gee, that’s sweet,” Lip replied with predictable sarcasm. “But you barely fucking know us.”

“Exactly,” Ian agreed, “but I should. I mean, we’re like family, right?”

“I missed you too, Ian,” Debbie chimed in. Liam suddenly started to babble as he sat in his high chair playing with a set of wooden alphabet blocks, and Ian couldn’t help but smile.

“Um, there was something I wanted to ask you, too,” he added, and told them what he was thinking.

* * *

 Ian was vague on his intentions when he left the house a little later, grateful for the fact that Fiona, Lip and the others seemed to be much less nosy than his parents. He turned up his collar against the crisp fall air as he walked, feeling like the calm, still night was electric with possibility. It occurred to him that he should be experiencing some sort of nerves, but any butterflies stirring in his stomach were only the result of anxious excitement.

When the Milkovich house came into view he could see a figure sitting on the porch steps having a smoke. A first he assumed it was Mickey but as he got closer he could see that it was slighter and more feminine, a black-haired girl in an oversized hoodie who eyed Ian suspiciously as he approached.

“The fuck do you want?” she asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I’m a friend of Mickey’s,” Ian said as casually as possible.

The girl scoffed. “Since when does Mickey have friends?”

“Is he home?” Ian replied, assuming her question was rhetorical.

“Fuck it,” she said with a sigh. “Yeah, he’s home. I don’t care if you’re here to beat the shit out of him, just try not to fuck up any of the electronics, okay?”

Ian wasn’t sure if the statement was a joke or not, so he simply nodded. “Got it,” he said, and walked past her up the steps and into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm trash, so so sorry that this took freaking forever but I promise to not leave you hanging so long this time. Thank you for your lovely comments and please come say hi to me on tumblr at [gallagherfamilyreunion](http://gallagherfamilyreunion.tumblr.com); the other advantage of being my friend on there is that you can yell at me for procrastinating instead of writing so yeah. Anyway stay tuned; as always your comments/kudos fill my heart with warm bubbles of joy and happiness. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know where this is going.

Both of Ian’s parents sat in silence for a long time after he finished speaking, staring at him as he shifted uncomfortably on the overstuffed floral sofa.

“Anything else?” his mother asked hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

Ian shook his head. He had told the pretty much everything  – leaving out the graphic details when it came to Mickey, obviously – and they seemed to be taking it reasonably well, considering.

“So now you just want to go live with these people?” Clayton asked.

“Only for a couple of weeks during winter break,” Ian clarified. “And maybe on the weekends, sometimes?”

“We’ll have to talk about it, sweetheart,” Lucy said gently. “I’m not sure this would be good for you. Frank can be very… charismatic, but—”

“I don’t give a shit about Frank,” Ian interrupted, frustrated with their lack of understanding (although he did notice that they no longer flinched every time he swore, which was an improvement). “Have you even met the rest of them? Fiona works like five jobs just to keep food on the table. Lip’s a fucking genius; he’d be the smartest kid at my school. Debbie’s only nine but she helps out with Liam all the time, and Carl… He hasn't burned the house down yet. Which is saying something, since they pretty much have no parental supervision.”

“It does sound pretty remarkable,” Lucy admitted. “But they’re not your responsibility, Ian. You’re just a kid too.”

“They’re my family,” Ian said. “I know I can help.”

He considered mentioning that he didn't really need their blessing but decided against playing that card just yet, and simply waited as Clayton and Lucy exchanged wordless glances.

“This Mickey kid sounds like trouble,” said Clayton, brow knotted in fatherly concern. “You don’t have to do… all of this just because someone- because you think someone’s interested in you,” he finished awkwardly.

“You know we support your sexuality,” Lucy chimed in. “The Wilsons have a gay son; I think he lives in Highland Park now with his husband? He’s a very successful architect...”

“We just don’t want you to get hurt,” said Clayton, returning to the point.

“I won’t,” Ian replied. “Anyway, Mickey doesn't have anything to do with it,” he added, which wasn't exactly true, but. “I just wanted you to know everything.”

There was a heavy pause, finally broken by Lucy. “Your father and I will have to talk about it,” she repeated. “And then we’ll see. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Ian.

 A hard knot formed in his stomach; “we’ll see” was typically code for “not if the very fires of hell froze over,” but he was finding it impossible to read either of his parents at the moment. He took his cue to exit and headed up to his bedroom, where he could at least try to distract himself with schoolwork while he awaited his fate.

* * *

 Ian was surprised upon entering the Milkovich house for the second time to come across a pair of oversized thugs sitting at the bottle-strewn kitchen table playing some type of card game; in contrast they seemed relatively unconcerned to see a complete stranger entering their home.

“Hey, Mandy let you in?” one of them asked offhandedly.

“Uh, yeah,” said Ian, “I’m here to see Mickey.”

“He’s in his room,” the second volunteered.

“Probably jacking off,” suggested the first, earning a high five from the other, presumably both relatives (brothers?).  

“Great, thanks,” said Ian as he tried to banish the thought of Mickey masturbating from his mind.

He reached a door covered with signs that promised various grotesque punishments up to and including death to any uninvited guest, and knocked firmly.

“Fuck off,” came a muffled voice from the interior, but Ian wasn't deterred.

“It’s Ian.”

“Who?”

“Quit fucking around; Lip told me you came around asking about me.”

Those seemed to be the magic words; the door unlocked quickly and Mickey all but dragged Ian inside before shutting it again.

“Will you keep it down, please?”

“Sorry,” said Ian. “Guess your family doesn't know, huh?”

“yeah, and you don’t know shit, alright? What the hell do you want, anyway?”

“You tell me,” said Ian, trying but not entirely succeeding at keeping a smug expression off his face.

“What is this, a fucking riddle?” said Mickey, obviously losing patience by the second. “Fuck it, I’m outta here.”

“Wait,” said Ian, imposing himself between Mickey and the door. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

Ian sighed. Good god, did he have to spell everything out? “Don’t leave me here again, asshole. It’s your room, for one thing.”

“Good point. So actually, you can leave.”

“Look, if you want me to go, I’ll go,” said Ian, suddenly feeling a little less sure of himself. “But can I ask one question?”

Mickey hesitated, staring at Ian almost as if he were sizing him up for a fight. “Okay. Doesn't mean I’m gonna answer, though.”

“Fair enough,” Ian conceded. “I just wanted to know, what was your plan, if Lip had given you my number? What were you gonna say?”

Mickey shook his head and turned away. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Ian didn't buy it. “Oh come on, you must have had something in mind,” he pressed. “I mean, the way we left things was pretty clear, right? This being a one-time thing and a–”

Mickey cut Ian off mid-sentence with a sudden, impulsive kiss that backed him up against the door with its urgency. Ian tensed for a moment, caught off-guard to say the least, but then returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm. He reached up with both hands to pull Mickey closer, feeling an electric thrill as Mickey raised his own hand to Ian’s neck, tracing his thumb firmly along his jaw.

When they finally separated Ian considered speaking up in protest of the fact that he had never received a satisfactory answer to his question, but now Mickey was taking off his shirt and fumbling with his belt and oh fuck it.

* * *

 Afterwards — like, a while afterwards, once he had composed himself enough to put together a reasonably coherent sentence — Ian decided to raise the topic again.

“So much for a one-time thing, huh?”

“Long way to come for a booty call, though,” Mickey replied, now wearing a smug smile of his own.

“Hey, you started it,” Ian pointed out.

“Yeah but you finished it, didn't you, tough guy?” said Mickey, making a playful grab at Ian under the covers.

“Hey!” Ian attempted to escape Mickey’s roaming hands and in the process banged his head hard against the wall. “Ow, fuck.”

“See? That’s what you get.”

There was a pause as Ian chose his next words, not wanting to create another misunderstanding.

“I've been thinking about what you said the other day, you know,” he began.

“Yeah, me too,” said Mickey. “I was kind of a dick.”

“No, you were right. I don’t know anything about what it’s like to live in this neighborhood. But I do know what it’s like to be–” Ian stopped short, suddenly wary of coming on too strong. “To be missing something,” he finished half-heartedly, the clichéd expression barely scratching the surface of what he meant. “Fuck. What I’m trying to say is, I might be staying with the Gallaghers for a while.”

“Shit,” said Mickey as he sat up and swung his legs to the ground. “Guess you really are a tough guy, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Ian replied. “And anyway, it won’t be for a couple of months, probably.”

“Couple of months,” Mickey repeated, standing to search among the scattered clothing articles on the floor for his boxers. “What’s that, like December?”

“Yeah. Hopefully sooner.”

“Well, maybe by next time you’ll be able to hold out a little longer.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Ian shot back. “Anyway,” he added, standing up and placing his hands teasingly at the waist of Mickey’s boxers, “who says we have to wait till next time?”

* * *

 The knock on Ian’s door served to simultaneously jolt him back to reality and produce a sickening lurch in his stomach.

“It’s open,” he called, and Clayton and Lucy walked into the room. They moved in a strangely hesitant way, as if Ian was a wild bird or something, easily startled and poised for flight at the first sudden movement.

“So,” Lucy began, followed by an agonizingly long, reality television-worthy pause. “Your father and I think that if you want to spend some time on the South Side, that would be… fine.”

“Seriously?” said Ian, his excitement dampened by disbelief.

“Only when you’re on break from school,” Clayton qualified. “And as long as it doesn't interfere with your academics, or extracurriculars.”

“It won’t,” Ian said with a grin.

“Good,” said Lucy. “We can discuss the specifics over dinner if you want to come down? I ordered Chinese.”

“Yeah, one sec.” Ian shooed them out and reached for his phone.

* * *

 "Carl, be quiet!” Debbie scolded her brother as the two of them stood in the kitchen with the rest of their siblings, all clumped around Lip as he held the phone out at arm's length.

“Ow,” said Carl in response to Debbie’s sharp jab to the ribs. “What the hell, I wasn't even doing anything!”

“Hush, both of you,” Fiona said, hoisting Liam up to rest on her hip as the message began to play.

“Hey, Lip… and Fiona… and everyone, probably,” came the sound of Ian’s voice over the grainy speakerphone. “Just wanted to let you know that it's all set, I’m in. If you still want me, I guess?

"So, yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voila! I really hope you liked this; like I mentioned in the comments there's obviously sequel possibility but also some degree of closure because I'm extremely well-intentioned but also the world's worst procrastinator. You might say *Hannah Montana voice* it's the best of both worlds... or not. IDK. As usual, please come say hi to me on tumblr at [gallagherfamilyreunion](http://gallagherfamilyreunion.tumblr.com), also I do have a [playlist/fanmix-y thing](http://gallagherfamilyreunion.tumblr.com/post/87753487805/just-another-ian-x-mickey-playlist-king-of) I put together for inspiration that I decided to share b/c why not, so check that out if you want, too. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay wow thanks for reading! Please boost my ego with kudos and comments, also this is just a rumor but I heard that for every nice thing you say the writers will add an adorable Ian x Mickey moment to season 5 IDK if that's true or not though. Also please, please come say hi on tumblr at [gallagherfamilyreunion](http://gallagherfamilyreunion.tumblr.com/), I am dying for people to talk about Shameless with. K that's all for now byeeeeee.


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